God is not a manicured English garden. God is a yellow defiant dandelion in a green lawn. God, “is a weed climbing a wall over a well.” Prune if you will, but it just won’t die. God’s ways and love are messy. When we were given away at our baptism, and when we give ourselves away at the altar each week, it’s a messy proposition. “I will with God’s help,” we say. How imprecise! Yet what we say is indissoluble! There’s something about God’s “I love you” to us that gets written on the stationery of eternity.